And it goes like this.
An open door, a cold breeze, two hearts beating in a volcanic rhythm.
And it goes like this.
Precisely one minute and fifty-three seconds pass into nothingness, before bold steps are taken and the door slams shut.
And it goes like this.
Frantic hands, frantic minds, and frantic hopes. One touch sends them over the edge. They fall.
And it goes like this.
He lifts her up and carries her into the bedroom, her legs already snaked around his hips in a mimicry of what is to come.
And it goes like this.
Bites, and kisses; kicks and moans; tugging and stroking; crying and shouting.
And it goes like this.
Hiding in the darkness just as they used to. Love and lust, shame and content, fear and hope, all rushing over them in waves, but tonight, they will not let it stand between them. Tomorrow is a different matter.
And it goes like this.
They sleep next to each for the first time. It is alien, it is right. Both wonder if the world would have been a different one if they had spent one night next to each other until the morning broke, instead of making their love a thing of the night.
And it goes like this.
The sun rises and he gets up, feeling utterly out of place in her already bright apartment. He is not made for rooms which are filled with candles, pillows, and a girl so beautiful that the stars look at her in envy.
And it goes like this.
She pretends not to hear him leave. But there is no escaping now, they are already in too deep. A strangled cry escapes her throat as she realizes that she doesn't even know the name he carries now.
And it goes like this.
Fear makes his stomach twist and ache and turn and empty. They were meant to talk last night, this had been the intention of his visit. But words had not been exchanged. His composure is slipping away and it lays his soul bare. He is sick on the street, glad that no one seems to be around.
And it goes like this.
Her home smells of him. Even though he's only been in the hall and her bedroom, his presence is everywhere. On the middle of her polished hardwood floors lies her heart, bleeding.
And it goes like this.
She turns the washing machine on and sits down in front of it again, watching the pulsing bloody mass not far away in estranged wonder and present pain.
